


They All Fall Down

by JForward



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jake gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JForward/pseuds/JForward
Summary: It's not graceful, or beautiful. He goes down. And he suffers. But he lives, and that's what matters...-Jake gets shot; under the influence of painkillers, he owns up a lot of his past to Amy





	1. Chapter 1

  
He falls.  
It's not beautiful, or graceful - he's Jake Peralta. Grace isn't really something he does. Since he was sixteen he's been gangly and unco-ordinated - that had never gone away, really, for all that he was good at catching criminals. Admittedly he probably couldn't manage the eleven block dash that had resulted in him buying the love of his life (his car), but he was still pretty strong.  
But when he falls, he doesn't look strong.

Pale, and shaking; his legs give way. Terry will always catch Jake, no matter the situation, but this time - he's not close enough. He's not there to make sure the pale form doesn't hit the ground. He's not ready to catch Jake in strong arms, to make sure the detective is okay. It only takes moments for them to be around him, though - not just Terry, but every other member of the crew. One thought pounding through every single mind, as Terry bent and pulled open the jacket.

Wearing a vest. Is he wearing a vest? there it was, the shape of the Kevlar protecting him. A faint cough and there was a feeling of relaxation spreading through all of them because Jake was still alive. There was a heavy bang and even Jake managed to look up - Diaz had the perp on the ground, disarmed, pinned badly. From the blood on his face she had probably just broken his nose against the concrete, but nobody really cared about that. Their focus was on the fact that Jake was still breathing, with the remnants of the bullet still jammed into the kevlar.

"Ow, ow, owowow-" Terry helped Jake to his feet. Then wrapped an arm around his shoulders to help keep him upright, because all the blood had rushed out of his face. Amy stepped closer, peering at him, then grimaced.   
"Jake, breathe." she ordered, and he glared at her just a lttle.   
"What do you - think - I'm doing?" but she had a hand on his side, leaning in even with the big vest obscuring his chest.  
"Your ribs are definitely broken. You need to get to the hospital. The vest stopped the piercing but you still had the impact. That was a powerful gun." she said, and nodded at Terry, who immediately scooped Jake into a bridal carry. The detective yelped in pain as he was carried towards the car.

The perp was cuffed, and Amy realised she was shaking. Jake could be dead. He could've been shot in the head - thank god the perp had aimed at his chest. Thank god Jake had worn a jacket so that the vest wasn't immediately visible. If the perp had known... she was breathing too hard. Spiralling, not realising she'd been saying all this aloud - until Diaz grabbed her shoulder.  
"Santiago. Snap out of it. Jake's fine." she told Amy, voice Holt-worthy in it's bluntness. "He has broken ribs. That happens even with the kevlar. He's not dying. You need to get to the hospital with him. We're handling the perp." the hand on her shoulder squeezed, then shoved. Amy took the hint, nodded a thanks, and shot off to head to the hospital. Rosa was right.  
\-----  
Terry was on the phone in the corridor. Jake was in a hospital bed; Terry nodded at Amy to head in. Charles was already there; Diaz was dealing with the perp. Holt hadn't been on the mission with them, and it had been affirmed that he wasn't coming - Jake woud be released as soon as they could source his prescription for painkillers. They were also waiting for the x-rays to confirm what the doctors had checked by hand - several fractured ribs and a cracked sternum. It was bad luck with the way he'd been hit that the kevlar - whilst it had, indeed, protected him from being outright killed, the ripple effect had been bad.

"Oh, jeez, Jake." Amy stared at the man in the bed in front of her. De-vested, he was wearing the paper gown, his clothes folded neatly on the chair next to him - including his NYPD jacket, with the bullet hole still turned neatly upwards. He turned his head and gave her a bright grin, looking like himself at least, even with the dark shadows underneath his eyes. "You look like hell."  
"Oh, thanks!" he said brightly, "You look beautiful as ever." and then she realised that smile was just slightly ... off.

"How many painkillers did they give you, Jake? For broken ribs?"  
"And a cracked sternum." he pointed out, "And I'm not entirely sure. But they said as soon as they sort my prescription out, that I can go home. Oh! I should get dressed." he adjusted how he was sat, and pulled off his paper gown.   
"Woah." Amy darted her eyes away - but thankfully he was still covered from the waist down. Her eyes flickered back - and she inhaled sharply. His chest was already showing signs of the damage - bruises flourishing like black-purple-red flowers across his pale skin. "Yikes, Jake. I'm really glad you were wearing a vest." she almost whispered it, as he began to pull on his standard button-up shirt.

Eyes trailed over his chest as he began to do up his shirt. She bit her lip - not from any other thoughts, but purely in worry. The sort of damage that could've happened without a vest... christ, it was terrifying. But Jake was still smiling and that meant everything was okay. She leant forward, looking at the young man in front of her.  
"Jake, I'm gonna drive you home, okay? You're going to need to rest. And I mean it. Rest."  
"Oh, don't worry, Santiago. This isn't my first rodeo."  
"What?" that made no sense. She blinked owlishly at him.  
"I've broken my ribs before, Amy. Like. Seven times, at least."  
"You've broken your ribs seven times?"   
"I'm a cop! Also, I mean, one of them involved me falling out of a tree. Gina saw that one. Not my ... most brilliant moment."

Amy was quiet for a few moments, wondering why Jake had never mentioned that before. Or Gina, really, when she would use any ammo available at any given time to give her a position of power. As the assistant put it, she was the bully on this playground, and nobody would be able to stand up to that. And yet Gina had never openly used the fact Jake had fallen out of a tree in front of her against him? Hm. Suspicious. But Amy didn't question it, because now Jake was continuing, as he finished hiding his chest away.  
"I mean, I've had more concussions than that. You've seen that." Amy was nodding, watching Jake's moves cautiously. "I'm really good at getting concussions. I'm a medical miracle!"

"Okay, Mr Medical Miracle. Let's get your medication and I'll take you home." she sighed, shaking her head a little. Broken ribs and a concussion... Jake was going to be absolute torture to look after tonight. But Amy had already resigned herself to concussed, injured, never-able-to-take-a-break Peralta. For all he acted like an idiot and goofed off, there was no doubt Jake was ridiculously dedicated to his job. But she was determined not to let him hurt himself further. Maybe she could gather some files, get him distracted, keep him pinned down in a safe space... would the painkillers make him drowsy? She hoped they did.

The nurse appeared, thankfully, and was treated to one of Jake's charming grins. She had a white paper bag in her hand; the young woman smiling back at Jake. Amy peered around and hopped up, ever vigilant.   
"Are these the meds?"  
"Yes, the painkillers for Mr Peralta. Are you his ..?"  
"His partner." easy solution. Not a lie. But an easy solution to the fact that she had no real jurisdiction when it came to Jake. "I'm going to be looking after him tonight."  
"Awe, Ames."   
"Concussion and broken ribs, right? He's dealt with this before. Don't worry, we're good." she reached out for his bag. "How many, how often?"  
"One every four hours, as needed." she said quietly. "They're strong - if they're not needed, don't take them."

The nurse left, unaware of the tension left behind. Amy realised that Jake was staring at her.  
"What?"  
"You remind me of my mom."  
"What?!" Amy blinked owlishly at him, offense clear in her features.  
"Wait, no, that came out wrong. No. I mean with the painkillers. When I was a kid, I got hurt. I mean, a lot. But not the falling out of a tree one. The messing around with a motorcycle one. I was sixteen. Got hurt pretty bad. And they told my mom - that I wasn't allowed to handle the pills. I was a risk."  
"A risk?" Amy was starting to feel a bit like a parrot, but there was a heavy sinking sensation in her stomach as she tried to process over what Jake was telling her. "Like - dangerous? To other people, or -"  
"Nah. To myself. They knew I was - they uh. They thought I was suicidal."  
"... Jake." there was a faint shake in her voice. The pills were definitely doing a number on him. No way in hell would Jake normally just hand up this information.

"I mean, they had a point. I wasn't allowed to handle my own medication until I moved out. Mom never forgot that." he looked pensive again, fidgeting. Then he turned around, pulling on his trousers, unbothered by her seeing him in his boxers. She'd seen him in less, after all. But Amy wasn't paying any attention to Jake's clothing situation, rather mulling over the thought that they would ever consider him ... well.  
"Jake, why did they think you were a threat?" she whispered, realising she was leaning in.  
"Oh. I mean, my dad left, and my head wasn't all that clear, and I did some ... stupid stuff." he said, still brightly, still smiling as he did up his jeans. "So they knew about it, obviously." beaming at her, Jake got up cautiously to his feet, grimacing at the ache in his chest.

"As in ... self harm, or?"  
"Something like that. Recklessness. All that cool stuff." he replied, not looking at her, "Some stuff with knives, some burns, some - oh." his dark eyes had flickered up to hers, "Sorry. I'm upsetting you, aren't I?"  
She hated painkillers. God, she hated painkillers - because hearing all this horrible stuff about Jake's past - but then again, she wondered if he would ever have admitted it to her ... Amy reached out, catching his hand, felt her heart skip as he looked up with wide, slightly lost eyes.  
"Okay, lets ... get you home. Let's get you settled and ... eating something, and - I don't know. We'll work something out!" she squeezed his hand again, hopping up as well. And her mind was running over just how she was going to deal with a high Jake admitting his checkered past to her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
She'd never envisioned it being this difficult to get Jake into a car. It wasn't that he was being a pain in the ass on purpose - it was just that he was having some unforseen challenges. The medication was definitely kicking in and he was getting loopier by the second, but it was also clear she couldn't be too rough with him because god, if he made that _noise_ again - the sound that had come from his lips when she'd yanked too hard on his arm and clearly jarred his ribs ...

"Come on, Mr Peralta." she said, trying to keep her tone light as he got distracted yet again. It took everything she had to not snap at the damn idiot as he paused to look into the vending machine - the fifth they'd passed. The hospital was like a frustrating maze, even for someone like Amy Santiago. And his constant lack of focus was normally annoying, let alone when he was being this irritating.

"Aw, I wanted snacks."  
"Jake, we have got lots of snacks at the apartment. And I'll stock up on gummy worms for you when we get back, alright?" she insisted, exasperated.   
"You promise?"  
"Of course I promise." she sighed, trying not to put her head in her hands and weep because h _ow the hell do I get out of this damned hospital without breaking more of his ribs_. That, of course, seemed to be the signal for the exit to _finally_ loom up ahead. Amy tugged on his arm again, admittedly more gently this time, and Jake finally yielded and allowed her to lead him outside.

The bag of painkillers was tucked into her handbag, held close to the side which wasn't gripping Jake's hand. He was blinking like a lost puppy in the bright light, so she took advantage of that to steer him in the right direction.  
"Don't let go of my hand." Amy said, in her attempt at a firm voice. It was like guiding a child. "I don't want to lose you in the parking lot. Jake! Are you listening?" his dark eyes finally looked back at her and he nodded, very firmly, almost pouting a little. Then grinned.  
Damnit to hell she wanted to kill him.

"My car's over there. Jake! Look where I'm pointing!" when she was sure he knew, she gave his hand a small tug, making her way through the cars cautiously. If he wandered off... her hands tightened, fingers curling securely around his larger hands, remembering the bolt of raw fear and pain she'd felt when hearing he'd been hit by a car in Atlantic City, when he was hurt and she hadn't been there ... admittedly, they hadn't been _dating_ , but still. And then when she'd taken a gun and shot him in the goddamned leg, and that had left her with a deep, sickening feeling that she didn't think she'd ever shake. But they got Figgis. They got the perp. That was the important thing.

Why was she doing this soul searching now? Focus, Santiago! Get in the car. And then it was there, and she was opening the door and almost shoving Jake in.   
"Do your belt up." it was an order, and when she knew he was obeying, Amy got in her side. Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. Nice and steady. In the car. Jake was safe. No need to spiral. Everything would be fine. They'd go home, she'd get him settled, put on Die Hard, get some candy, and he would rest. The perp was caught. No reason for him to stress. She started the car.

"Amy." he was _right there_ , leaning in despite the discomfort he must in. And she smiled just a little, tilting her head a little to kiss him back, because why else would he be that close? Brief, and a little tainted by the fact he was so out of it, but still sweet. She sighed just a touch, still smiling.   
"Okay, Mr Peralta. Let's get you home, okay? I'll take it gently." focusing on the road, Amy backed out, and began to navigate the way out, then towards their apartment.

It wasn't long into the journey when Jake spoke, catching her offguard. Enya was playing softly - the disc had just been in the player, and there was no need to change it when it was probably the perfect thing for Jake's messed up state. She'd been hoping he might doze off, but nope - instead he made her almost jump.  
"I don't really like that." she glanced sideways at him.  
"What are you talking about?" exasperation coloured her tone.  
"Mr Peralta. Reminds me of my dad too much, Ithink. Now that I'm done with him..."  
"Oh." what the hell could Amy even say to that?  
"What about Mr Santiago?"  
"What, my dad?" okay, now she was really lost. Was Jake just sleep babbling? No, his eyes were open, he seemed lucid... sort of.  
"No. No, I mean for - me. Y'know. When we get married." his face was resting on the window, eyes peering out into the streets. "I think I should take your name. Mr Santiago. I like it. I think it suits me. Jacob Santiago. Hm." he smiled vacantly. Amy tried to swallow down the heart in her throat.

"Are you proposing to me, Jake?" she tried to make it sound like a joke.  
"Not yet." he murmured, "Gotta make it perfect. You won't like it unless it's perfect. And you deserve that, Ames. Gotta make sure everything's absolutely right." he smiled, as he looked out at New York. "I mean, I don't deserve you... so. Gotta be smort." his voice was getting softer, and she swallowed hard.  
"We're nearly home, Jake." she whispered, biting back the saltwater threatening to rise. Crying whilst driving was a bad idea.   
"Mr and Mrs Santiago." he mumbled. She pulled over.  
"Come on, Jake. Time for bed, okay?"  
\----

Elevators. So many conflicted feelings about elevators. Normally she would be okay; she was people she trusted, like at work and with Jake. But this was different. He was so out of it. It was a little adorable, especially considering his rambling in the car... she had sniffed and quickly wiped her face before encouraging him into the building. The claustrophobe had withstood the elevator, eyes shut and breathing hard, pressed close to his side even if he was in danger of napping on her head. But finally, _finally_ they got into the apartment and she basically dragged him into the bedroom.

"You're going to sleep," she ordered, sitting him on the edge of the bed, then leaning in to touch his pale cheek. "Okay?" hands automatically began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and Jake let out a soft giggle that was clearly meant to be sultry - but went far of the mark, really, because he seemed drugged up to the nines.   
"Title of your sex tape."  
"Not even close, but good try, champ." she sighed, shaking her head as she slid off his shirt from skinny shoulders. The look of his bruised torso made her wince again; "Come on. Lay down, Jake. I'll get these off them you can sleep." it was clear he was going to be useless. Thankfully his jeans came off easy, and she draped a blanket over him. "I'll leave you some painkillers and water for when you wake up." she murmured, kissing his forehead and sighing.

Gently placing a tablet and a glass of water next to the bed a few minutes later, Jake was already flat out - breathing a little raspy but otherwise fairly even. Good. She smiled and left the room, leaving the door cracked open so she could keep an eye on him. She needed to leave and get candy - she'd gotten rid of most of it in her attempts to make him a little healthier. But she couldn't leave him like this, could she? Her mind went back to what he'd said. He wanted to get married. And take her name. And he wanted to do it perfectly. Good lord. She swallowed hard, hopping up and starting to organise, because that always helped her feel better.

She was halfway through sorting a box of evidence that Jake had brought home (against the rules) and messed up (just Jake being a pain in the ass) when what had happened hit her.   
Sinking to the floor, still holding a photograph in her hand, Amy began to cry. It started with a deep, gasping breath that rose from her belly and escaped raggedly. The sobs got worse, and she bit her hand to stop it from getting too loud. She didn't want to wake Jake up. But all she could see was the way he'd collapsed, the way that bullet had hit him. He could've died. _He almost died_. There was no Rosa to stop the spiral.  
So Amy sat in the middle of her apartment, clutching a photo of somebody's dismembered hand, weeping openly. She couldn't recall being this scared in her life.

"He's alive. He's alive. That's all that matters. He's alive." and she laughed just a little, through the tears. "God. He's alive. Fuck. I love you so much." Amy wiped her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Then she got up slowly, looking back to the room with redrimmed eyes. "Candy. Okay. Candy. Let's ... get everything you need, Jake." she mumbled, nodding firmly. A little shopping trip, then back, and he'd never even know she was gone. It would all be okay. It would be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter ended up being almost a thousand words more than usual, and I'm still not sure of the ending. But I hope you all enjoy this soppy bullcrap.

 

  
"Oh god, Jake. Are you okay?"  
Ten minutes she was gone! Ten minutes at most. But as she'd come through the door, grocery bags in hand, there was the sound of gasping and sobbing coming from the bedroom. She'd shoved the bag onto the counterside, not wanting to destroy anything within, but had dashed to the bedroom as fast as her heels could carry her. The sounds that were coming out of the room weren't quite as horrific as the gasps he'd let out yesterday, but there was something else ...

He was half propped up in the bed, head forward, arms wrapped around his torso and letting out horrific, gasping half-sobs. His eyes were wide, staring at nothing in the gloom of the darkened bedroom. Wasting no time, confused and scared, Amy hopped onto the bed and crouched in front of him. She was awkward, in her pencil skirt and heels, gently resting her fingers on his cheek. For some reason, she expected him to be cool, but his skin was overly warm - and damp. Sweat or tears, she couldn't tell. But the gasps were ragged, scratching because of the broken bones, and in the half-light his eyes were so dark that she couldn't tell where he was looking or if he was even focusing on her.

"Jake! Jake, what's wrong?" she ran her hand up into his hair, stroking gently, trying to coax him into breathing properly. "You need to breathe, okay? Talk to me. Keep it steady. Don't - don't hurt yourself." another of those ragged noises tore from him and christ, she felt her own heart racing as if to keep up with him. "Sweetheart. Come on." eyelids flickered; a blink was a good sign, right? Just the slightest inclination of his head back up toward her. That meant ... that meant he was paying attention. It had to.  
"In, out. Nice and slow. Follow me, okay?" and although it was burning her up to have to breathe evenly when every part of her wanted to panic and spiral... she managed it.

Amy could feel the way Jake was actually starting to breathe better underneath her hands, the way his shoulders rose and fell. He gave a little half-smile.   
"Hey." the word was strained, difficult, but it made her smile - even as hot saltwater began to pour down her own cheeks.   
"God Jake. What the hell happened?" Amy murmured, brushing his face with her thumb.  
"Had a - nightmare." he said, still raspy. "Panic attack. Memories. Saw you."   
"Okay. Okay, Jake. Just - breathe deeply. As you can." she stroked his hair again. "I'm going to get you some water - no. Orange soda. I'll get you an orange soda."

When she returned from the kitchen a few moments later, holding the glass of luridly orange drink, Jake looked a little more with it - his posture better, his eyes a little brighter. Clearly he'd dried his face on their bedsheets, but that didn't bother her. Placing the drink on his bedside table, Amy kicked off her shoes and flipped on the small bedside lamp, perching cautiously next to her partner as he took a sip of soda. Her mind flickered over all the ways she'd seen Jake in their partnership - not just as romantic partners. The things they'd been through together. The night on the roof. And now ... this.

"You have to talk to me." he looked pensive as she spoke, finding it hard to meet her eyes. "Jake. Please. You have to talk about this. I love you, okay? I love you. And seeing you like this is just - I want to help." she stroked his cheek again, soft and gentle. "And everything you were talking about ..."  
"Okay." Jake murmured, "Real talk here." he gave a little half-laugh. "I will. I'll tell you, okay... if you don't get upset." he leant in to her, resting his head on her shoulder. "I love you too. But - tomorrow, okay?" she sighed and nodded.   
"Get some sleep." she made to stand - but his hand jerked out, tangling fingers around hers.  
"Stay?" he asked, weakly. "Please."  
"Okay." she whispered, and kissed him. "Okay."

\---

Normally Amy liked to sleep face to face with him, tucking her head up under his chin, all tangled together. Jake had said before it was the messiest he ever saw her... excluding maybe some of her braiding breakdowns, when her hair essentially exploded. But it was something comforting, very sweet, about them being tucked up together like that ... this, however, was different. She pressed her front to his back, gingerly, an arm thrown over him. Jake liked being the little spoon. And she wanted him to feel safe.

Having awoken probably about an hour before the other detective, Amy had been prepared to get her routine started - getting ready for work, following her tight, mentally-drilled schedule. Having Jake there had thrown it off, recently, but still... she liked to try to get him into it, too. Today, though. Maybe not. He was still asleep, breathing raspily, his face buried in his pillow. She reached to gently stroke his hair a little before extracting herself from his back. Rolling over cautiously, her hand scrabbled to find her phone - and a message from Gina. Wow, that was new.  
Holt told me to tell you not to come in today, boo. Look after the idiot for him. xoxo  
Well, that solved one problem but threw up a thousand more. Still. She'd decided to stay there, cuddling up to his broad shoulders, until finally Jake began to squirm.

Crawling out of bed, Amy moved around the space with practiced ease - all her things undisturbed in the same spots they'd been for about eight years. Hair brushed - once before the shower, so it was easier to get clean and dry - pulling on her fluffy dressing gown. Then she hesitated in the doorway. If ten minutes was enough for him to panic... teeth worried her lower lip. Was it a bad idea to leave him whilst she showered? No. No, use logic, Santiago. Shower - low power, door open, extractor fan off so she could hear if he sobbed like that again. Yes, good plan. Efficient. Holt would be proud. But, thankfully - unneeded.

Entering the bedroom wrapped in a towel, Amy smiled at the sight of sleepy dark eyes blinking at her.  
"Morning," she sang out, beaming at him, triggering that wide smile back. Good. God, it was both the reason she got so frustrated with him and the reason she loved him so much. That grin could make her so happy, when he was bouncy and full of energy - or drive her to want to stab him through the heart with a rusty spoon when it was at her expense. Thankfully, recenty, it was definitely more the former.   
"Does it have to be?" he croaked. She ignored that little comment.  
"There's some soda for you on the side. Just because you're hurt." Amy conceeded to the junk food. Right now she wanted Jake to be happy... water could come later.

Keeping an eye on Jake as he maneouvered himself into something resembling a sitting position and downed his flat soda, Amy focused on getting herself ready, even if she didn't have to be at work. Schedule was her life. But then... so was the man currently sitting in her bed, still half asleep. She found herself glancing at him more often than was needed; at the way his hair tufted up and how sweet he was.  
"Okay." hopping up, she walked around and kissed him softly, smiling at the slightly surprised - but pleased - look in those eyes. "I'm thinking ... "  
"Three minutes?"  
"No, Jake - not while you're hurt."  
"Aw."  
"Listen. Breakfast. I'll make pancakes. And then we can sit down with some junk food, and binge watch all the die hard movies ... and talk, maybe?" she suggested.

"Noice. Wait. Talking? And you cooking?" he said, making a face as if she'd said something truly horrific. Rubbing at his tired face, Jake carefully swung his legs out of bed. Amy heard the sharp exhale, poorly hidden, as his damaged torso was forced to move.  
"You already said noice, that means it's approved. Here." she handed him a painkiller and a glass of juice. Wrinkling his nose, Jake swallowed them down.  
"I'll even let you eat in bed, if you want."  
"Wow, you must be worried about me."  
"Ever the tone of surprise, Peralta. Don't make me change my mind."  
"No, it's okay. I'm ... gonna sit. In the kitchen. Give me a few minutes."

The smell of blueberries and hot batter was filling the apartment by the time Jake made it to sit at the little table, having made his rounds to the bathroom and pull on a set of his more comfortable loungewear-come-pyjamas. Watching Amy move confidently around the kitchen, so different from him, it was ... nice. He loved that about her. One of the many things on a very long list he'd been cultivating for years in his mind. Maybe he should mention that. There was nothing Amy liked more than a list... but regardless. She was confident, she knew what she was doing, and for all her tendencies to spiral, she was incredible. A woman who could change a tire without hesitation; who could take down a perp with a perfectly placed baton to the knee; who could melt every inch of resistence out of him with just the tiniest little hint of a smile.

Yep, painkillers were definitely starting to kick in.

A plate with three perfect pancakes was placed in front of him; a small bottle of maple syrup (the expensive kind! She never let him have this. Wow, she must be worried.) and the jug of juice as she settled across from him.  
"You're getting better." the comment was meant to be lighthearted, but he could see the strain in the half-smile on her face.   
"I've been watching some videos on YouTube." she said, voice maybe just a little tight. "I wanted to learn to make some things you like." he took a closer look at her plate. Uneven, burnt on the side, definitely some inconsistencies that definitely weren't in his. But hey. Three edible pancakes was definitely an improvement. "And, y'know. Actually be able to cook them. I can get something from the deli for your dinner, if you want."

"And you stopped taking tips from Boyle. Can't get better advice than that." Jake added, beaming at her. "Okay."  
Jake dug in - and soon found out why the syrup was permitted. But as he crunched his way through somehow-scorched and somehow-squishy blueberries mashed into what was kinda-sorta pancake batter but dryer than the croissants currently moldering in his desk, he tried to remember that she'd done it because she'd cared. One pancake in, he gave up - pretending that he was too full, still didn't feel well from the night before. Jake could kinda tell she knew, because her plate went in the bin too. But that was okay. She tried.

Moving to the sofa, Jake settled there, watching Amy set up Die Hard. It was still early but they had a lot of movies to get through, and he definitely wanted to binge watch all of them whilst he was off. Six movies ... hmm, maybe they could manage it every day. A soft smile was on his features as he saw how gingerly Amy handled his disks, placing them almost reverentially into the DVD player. Then she was standing, holding the remote; the menu began to play on the screen behind. And Amy didn't press the button, looking intently at Jake.

"What?" he looked up at her, blinking owlishly, confusion colouring his features. "C'mon. It's time for some real cop action." he beamed at her, to have it slip away like the delicious syrup as he took in her expression. He recognised it. That was definitely Santiago's I'm being firm face and that was a very scary thing to behold. "Okay, what did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." the light, airy tone. Damn, he was in serious trouble, then. "I'm making you a deal, Peralta." she leant forward, crosing her arms. "You talk - and the DVD plays. Or instead we can sit here, staring at the title screen - because I know you can't get the DVD remote from me."  
"You're a monster." Jake said, voice low and a little rough, rising up to the competition. "You know I would do anything for John McClane. Anything. Even with a broken scrotum."  
"Sternum, sweetheart."  
"Right!" he agreed, acting like he hadn't made the slip, but Amy was smiling a sneaky smile and Jake was feeling more nervous by the second. "Oh no. What did you give me? What have you done to be, you yellow bellied harlot! Wait - sorry. Too far."

"Jake, I didn't give you anything." Amy sighed, with just a hint of a smile. "Except, obviously ... your pain meds. Which you are required to take, by the doctor."  
"The ones which make me drowsy." he pointed out, "And -"  
"Make you open up, yeah." she felt a little flicker of misgivings, and sighed. "Okay - okay. I'm not going to hold you ransom about your past, Jake." Amy bit her lip again. "I'm sorry, it's ... no." she offered the remote to him, and he automatically took it. "It's not right." and now she felt terrible, flopping next to him on the couch. "Let's watch Die Hard, okay?"

He was looking at her in a strange way, and Amy was suddenly reminded of the cruise, of the way he murmured that he loved her, and how her heart skipped a beat. Admittedly the moment had been ruined because - well - widows, but ... still. She hadn't forgotten it. And there was something familiar in Jake's expression, looking back at her.   
"No. No, Amy, you're right, and if being off my head on prescription medication is the only way I'll talk about it ... maybe that's a tip to my therapist, aha." the laugh was small and forced, but it made her smile. "I mean, I've not really told ... anyone. Mom knows some of it, but." he cleared his throat. "If anyone's going to know it. I want it to be you."

Amy waited. She didn't push; didn't try to make him speak quicker. This was trust. This was an important moment. But she reached out, gently sliding her fingers to tangle into his, in case he needed that.  
"You know about me in the trees, when I was a kid. But when I was sixteen, I was ... I mean. Teen angst, y'know? Aha. I uh. It's one of the many reasons I stick to cars and I'm not good on motorcycles. Friend of mine, Lawrence, he had this - motorbike. And I kinda..." he made a face, as he spoke. "Stole it. Well. Borrowed it without a permission. I took his helmet, and I went into his garage when he was off with his band, and I went out on it." he went quiet, catching his breath just a little, as Amy rubbed her thumb over the back of his knuckles.

"I wasn't a good driver, but I managed to get out of town. And I didn't slow down. I just kept speeding up." he swallowed hard. "I wasn't trying to - trying to die or anything. That wasn't what I wanted. I just didn't want to have to think any more." he muttered. "About dad, about looking after Mom, about being Jewish. I thought I'd never manage to be a cop, that all my dreams were trash ... I'm sure you get it." he murmured. "I mean, not because you - I mean. Never mind." he rubbed his face. Amy realised she was shaking, even if she was glad Jake was opening up, she'd never thought of the ever-smiling detective feeling like this.

"Smashed it into a tree in the end. Mom was furious. I had to pay for it to be repaired. And it was before I had insurance, so ... eheh. Crippling debt." he looked at his knees, swallowing hard, squeezing her hand as his were shaking. "I messed around, too. With mom's lighters and my friend's too. I don't know. It wasn't that I really wanted to hurt myself, I just ... never felt like I would manage anything. And then I got in the program, and it ... it went away."

"Jake." Amy said, shakily. "It just - went away? Just like that?"  
"No." he looked sideways at her. "It's why I throw myself into cases like I do. I mean. I don't want anyone to ... suffer. I want to be a good person, do good things, to help people be safe and happy and just ..." he fidgeted. "It helps. Cases. Working hard. It's better than letting my head get like that again. But I know if it gets bad, well. I'll be okay." he gave her a genuine smile. "I've got you." and he pulled her hand to his mouth, giving it just a soft kiss on the knuckles.

"I don't know if it'll come back. There've been times.. in that slump, or when things have been ... I've gotten close. To that recklessness. To that just ... I don't know. Devil may care, I guess. Teen angst. Not thirty year old angst." he murmured. "It's dumb. I'm fine. Departmentally mandated therapy cleared me and everything."  
"Jake." she whispered it softly, and he looked at her seriously as she reached up and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. "I love you, okay? I do. If it ever happens again..."  
"I know." he murmured. "Noice. Smor- I mean." he cleared his throat. "I love you too. And I know. I'm safe."  
"I'm safe with you, Amy Santiago. I'm going to be safe for as long as you're around." he leant in and kissed her very tenderly on the lips. "I love you."

He took the small remote, curling up to her, and switched on the familiar movie. Amy mimicked him, so glad to feel warmth of his still in tact form on her arm, thinking about how many times she could've lost him. And grateful, so grateful that he was still here. And she thought about him being Mr Santiago, and she smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you for reading; creative criticism is adored, comments are loved, and you're all smort.   
> If you have any ideas for what fanfictions you might like to see for B99, hmu.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the kudos on my last work! Please, please consider commenting, it means the world to me. Constructive criticism gives me joy.


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